


Estavated

by WalkingInland



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Series, Tiny Claire off to conquer the world as per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingInland/pseuds/WalkingInland
Summary: On a rainy afternoon in 1924, Lambert Beauchamp finds himself with a small research partner.





	Estavated

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by a post on tumblr, @desperationandgin's addition, and @thefraserwitch's tags. You can find it here: https://thefraserwitch.tumblr.com/post/186379438468/i-cant-get-over-this-little-girlpretending

**London, England, 1924**

“Uncle Lamb?”

Lambert Beauchamp sighed as his niece’s curious small voice sounded out from the floor on the other side of his desk. He was in the middle of trying to organize his papers and compile research into some sort of order for their next upcoming trip, but it was decidedly not coming together the way he had envisioned.

One notable roadblock in this was his 6-going-on-46 year old niece. Her appetite for knowledge and her questioning nature delighted him no end, but it also proved to be a significant hindrance to his productivity. Normally, if he had time sensitive work to accomplish, he would send Claire out to the back garden to dig about in the abandoned herb plot. This tactic served not only the purpose of giving him some quiet while she was outside, but it also tired Claire out enough that she would come inside in a slightly less inquisitive mood. She would be content with chattering to herself and answering her own questions, instead of seeking out a higher authority to answer them for her.

The rain that had been falling steadily all day meant that all outdoor digging must be put on hold, so Lambert had passed Claire one of his older archaeological journals, told her to practice her reading, and hoped for the best.

His hopes seemed to have been short lived on this occasion, however, and he looked over the edge of his desk to see what was going on in his niece’s curly little head. 

“Yes, love? Did you have a question?”

Claire was sprawled out on her stomach on the floor, nose nearly pressed into the pages of the journal. She turned her head up for a minute as she nodded, and then looked down to continue her examination.

“Uncle? What does _ex…. esta….es-ta-vah-teed_ mean?”

Lamb’s brows knitted together as he tried to fathom what in the world Claire could be trying to say.

“Why don’t you read me the whole sentence?”

As her tiny finger ran slowly along the line, she carefully sounded out the sentence that she was stuck on.

“’ _The woman was es-ta-vah-teed twenty-five miles outside of Perth, with all of the ar-ti-facts in place.’_ I know what _artifacts_ means, you told me that before. It’s the old things that have something to teach us. But what about the other word? I’ve never seen that one before.”

Lambert scrambled for how to explain the concept in terms a six-year-old would understand. “That, darling, is _excavated._ It just means dug up. So a woman’s body was found somewhere near Perth, along with all of her belongings. They probably were laid all around her when she was buried a very long time ago, to show what was important in her life.”

Claire was nodding knowingly during this explanation, with all the understandingly her little self could muster, yet Lambert still had a slight moment of panic as he often did when explaining something to his niece.

_Good Lord, man. Do you have any idea how to talk to children? How to explain things to them? Is this something young girls are usually interested in? Does she understand in the slightest what you are rambling about now?_

Whether she understood completely or not, Claire was studying the journal again, finger back to tracing the print, and silently mouthing along to what words she knew.

Lamb watched her a moment and shook his head, knowing that she would run across more questions if she lingered there any longer.

“Claire, how about you take that into your bedroom for a bit. I simply must get these papers in order, alright? I’ll finish up and then we’ll find something for tea. Think we can manage that?”

******************************

Over the next half hour, Claire was fairly silent in her play. Lamb could periodically hear her shuffling around, puttering back and forth between a few different rooms in the flat. He once thought he caught the sound of the squeaky silverware drawer open, but he was too engrossed in his report to be sure. There had been no crashing noises or cries, and so his attention gradually drifted farther and farther from his niece in the next room over.

Until, that is, said niece very purposely decided to get his attention.

“Uncle Lamb, look at me! Uncle Lamb, come look!!”

There is a certain prayer for patience that anyone who has ever cared for young children is familiar with. Lambert Beauchamp knew this prayer intimately.

“Uncle Lamb! Look! I’m an estavated!”

_What on earth…_

He finally gave in, pulled his glasses from their resting place on the bridge of his nose, pushed his chair back, and went in search of his wayward, giggling niece.

Lamb came around the corner into his niece’s room to find what appeared to be an organized explosion of blankets, pillows, and the oddest assortment of household objects. The one thing that was missing upon first glance was Claire.

“Claire? Are you in here?”

The voice that answered came from underneath a pillow in the middle of the pile. “In _here_ , Uncle!”

It was not exactly uncommon for Claire Beauchamp to be found playing in rather strange situations. Just last month he had found her in the bathtub with a towel draped over the broomstick, which she was holding as high as she could, insisting that she was in a sailboat on an exploration of the Mediterranean Sea.

The current situation, in which she was lying in the middle of a nest of pillows, surrounded neatly by all manner of toys, kitchenware, shoelaces, hair pins, and combs, was easily the oddest one yet.

Lamb took a deep breath and attempted to settle himself to hear an explanation, the creativity of which he was sure he was unprepared for.

“Claire. What… _are_ you doing?”

The little girl tried to hold still, even as she giggled out her answer with all the pride her six-year-old self could muster. “I’m an _estavated_ , Uncle Lamb!”

“An _estavated,_ are you? What do we have here, then? Are these your shoelaces? And the silverware?”

“Noooo, Uncle Lamb, they’re the _artifacts._ ” She said the word slowly and deliberately, as if to make sure that her silly daft Uncle got the information correctly. “I’m an _estavated_ , and the archaeologists have just found me, and these are my _artifacts_! They’re going to teach them things.”

“Oh yes? What sorts of things will they teach them?”

Claire seemed a bit thrown by that one, but then she shrugged as she answered, “Hmmm, just things. Things that you learn.”

Lamb chuckled a bit at that one. “Well, my girl, I can’t suppose I can argue with that. Very useful, things that you learn. Why don’t we take a look at your _artifacts_ and see what we can learn from them, hmm?”

The two of them worked their way around the odds and ends that dotted the mass of pillows, finally ending up on a small pile of hair pins by Claire’s left foot. Lamb wasn’t entirely sure where she had found them. On the rare occasion he had attempted to tame Claire’s curly mane, they were typically nowhere to be found.

He picked up the simple piece of metal and held it up in front of Claire.

“Well, what will the archaeologists find here? Hair pins? You know these things are very uniquely helpful. They tell us all kinds of different things about the culture who used them. So, Miss Estavated, what do you think these hair pins are telling us?”

Claire’s face was as sincere as any student Lamb had ever come across as she nodded seriously and answered the question. “They tell us that little girls in England aren’t supposed to have funny hair.”

Lamb raised his eyebrows at that one; he hadn’t heard her make any complaints or even simple comments about her hair before. “Funny hair? Do you think your hair is funny?”

Claire shrugged a bit from her pillow nest and fiddled with a fork that had been tucked near her elbow. “I dunno. Mrs Thompson down the hall told Mrs Stuart it was when Mrs Stuart stopped by last week.”

Lamb made a mental note not to leave Claire with the Thompsons anymore when he had errands to run. He scrubbed his hand over his face briefly; he should have known someone would make comments, either about Claire herself or their rather odd living situation. Claire was too observant for her own good and often heard a good deal more than most adults gave her credit for.

“I will have you know, young lady, that you have your mother’s hair. And it is quire lovely, no matter what Mrs Thompson says.”

The golden eyes peering up at him brightened considerably at that.

“Mama had the same hair?” She asked, and with a nod from her uncle, nestled a little more snugly into her pillows. “Well then. I _like_ my funny hair.”

With a sigh and an uncharacteristically hearty laugh, Lambert Beauchamp sat down to estavate with his niece. The last year of their lives had not contained enough laughter. The research could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> *I know exactly nothing about archeology, or where and how ancient bodies are actually excavated. My apologies if I butcher every single reference to it*


End file.
